A perfect morning goes something like this:
1. Waking up after eight full hours of sleep.
2. Seeing the first dusting of snow on the ground.
3. Heading out for a 4.5 mile run with my husband in the cold winter air.
4. Having Central Park mostly to ourselves because New Yorkers can't handle it when the mercury dips below freezing.
5. Running a relatively easy ~9:20 pace without needing to stop once.
6. Enjoying a bagel with Nutella for breakfast, while laughing out loud reading this.
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Why we do it
As everyone is no doubt aware, New York was blanketed by snow yesterday. This followed several days of snowy weather in DC, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey and, in the opinion of one Canadian girl, a laughable inability in these areas to cope with a bit of the white stuff. As my brother appropriately asked me yesterday, “I heard that NY shut down cause of snow. What kind of snow do you guys get there? Are there three foot snowflakes that weigh 40 pounds each?”
To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.
By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”
This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.
This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.
But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)
If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.
To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.
By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”
This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.
This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.
But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)
If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Wet and wild
Judging by the number of cocktails I've consumed and hours of sleep I've lost over the past 72 hours, the holiday season is clearly in full swing. Unfortunately, this tired old body is simply not cut-out for hard partying anymore. (Then again, I'm not sure that it ever was: I am famous amongst my friends for always being the first girl to bail when the clock strikes midnight, and have even been known to ask my mom to pick me up and drive me home (she doesn't mind -- really!)). With every passing year, it seems that each additional drink consumed demands an additional hour of recovery the next day. Saturday morning I felt pretty crummy. Sunday morning I awoke in a daze. By yesterday evening, I could barely carry on a conversation past 7 pm. Today is Monday, and I think I am in need of a weekend to recover from the weekend.
Saturday was a miserable day in New York City for a multitude of reasons: unrelenting rains, strong winds, and freezing temperatures from sunrise to sunset. Why, then, Zdenek and I decided in our exhausted state to run over 15 miles in such conditions is still a bit of a mystery. After a long Friday night out on the town, we got a very late start on Saturday and, at first, considered skipping the run altogether. As I washed down my Advil with a cup of coffee, the temperature outside dropped and the rain began to fall. Nevertheless, we filled up our water bottles, tucked Power Gels into our pockets, and set off, thinking we'd go slowly and quit when it didn't make sense anymore (if it ever did make sense in the first place, that is).
This run was a struggle, to say the least. I don't think we had finished our first loop before the rain started coming down in sheets and most of our fellow devotees cleared the Park. Soon it was just Zdenek and me versus the hypothermia-inducing elements. My clothes were sopping and cold, my leg muscles tight and stiff. At times we barely moved against the wind. I could only think of the hot shower and steaming cup of coffee that awaited me at home. But as we neared the 12 mile mark in almost total isolation, I casually suggested to Zdenek that we continue on and aim for 15-16 miles total. He didn't flinch.
Maybe we were trying to show that we were tough. Maybe we were hoping that any leftover alcohol molecules circulating in our blood would be sweat out and washed away. Maybe we had no good reason at all. Whatever our motivation, I was somewhat unsurprised to learn that it is shared by my friend and fellow runner, Caitlin. Like me, Caitlin adores early bedtimes and long workouts, and the two of us often leave parties early to split a cab back to our respective Upper West Side abodes. This morning, when I (with some pride) relayed to Caitlin my epic 15.5 mile journey through a winter rainstorm, she responded (with equal pride), "I ran that day, too!" Go figure.
My Saturday morning run (which we completed in an 8:30 min/mile pace and which gave me a bad case of red, itchy, freezer-burned skin) was definitely a party of sorts. Caitlin, Zdenek, and I may be losing steam when it comes to pulling all-nighters, but perhaps our definition of a "good time" is just a bit different from that of our peers. It appears that we can still find energy when it matters.
Saturday was a miserable day in New York City for a multitude of reasons: unrelenting rains, strong winds, and freezing temperatures from sunrise to sunset. Why, then, Zdenek and I decided in our exhausted state to run over 15 miles in such conditions is still a bit of a mystery. After a long Friday night out on the town, we got a very late start on Saturday and, at first, considered skipping the run altogether. As I washed down my Advil with a cup of coffee, the temperature outside dropped and the rain began to fall. Nevertheless, we filled up our water bottles, tucked Power Gels into our pockets, and set off, thinking we'd go slowly and quit when it didn't make sense anymore (if it ever did make sense in the first place, that is).
This run was a struggle, to say the least. I don't think we had finished our first loop before the rain started coming down in sheets and most of our fellow devotees cleared the Park. Soon it was just Zdenek and me versus the hypothermia-inducing elements. My clothes were sopping and cold, my leg muscles tight and stiff. At times we barely moved against the wind. I could only think of the hot shower and steaming cup of coffee that awaited me at home. But as we neared the 12 mile mark in almost total isolation, I casually suggested to Zdenek that we continue on and aim for 15-16 miles total. He didn't flinch.
Maybe we were trying to show that we were tough. Maybe we were hoping that any leftover alcohol molecules circulating in our blood would be sweat out and washed away. Maybe we had no good reason at all. Whatever our motivation, I was somewhat unsurprised to learn that it is shared by my friend and fellow runner, Caitlin. Like me, Caitlin adores early bedtimes and long workouts, and the two of us often leave parties early to split a cab back to our respective Upper West Side abodes. This morning, when I (with some pride) relayed to Caitlin my epic 15.5 mile journey through a winter rainstorm, she responded (with equal pride), "I ran that day, too!" Go figure.
My Saturday morning run (which we completed in an 8:30 min/mile pace and which gave me a bad case of red, itchy, freezer-burned skin) was definitely a party of sorts. Caitlin, Zdenek, and I may be losing steam when it comes to pulling all-nighters, but perhaps our definition of a "good time" is just a bit different from that of our peers. It appears that we can still find energy when it matters.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A cold reality
I can pinpoint the day I realized with certainty that Zdenek had fallen in love with me. It was a Sunday morning in Toronto, back in January of 2004. I was training for my first long-distance race, the 30km Around the Bay Road Race in Hamilton, Ontario (which, incidentally, is the oldest road race in North America). As part of my training program, I was participating in scheduled "race pace runs" with my local running group. These runs, meant to simulate race-day conditions and allow the opportunity to practice pacing, nutrition, and other race strategies, were staged in rain, shine, or (being Canada) the freezing cold. That particular Sunday, I was scheduled to run 16 miles. My running partner, Siobhan, was off visiting family in sunny Florida.
As Sunday drew closer and the mercury plunged lower, it became apparent that I was in for a miserable 16 miles. The temperature for that morning was predicted to hit a high of -31 degrees Celsius (which, for my American friends, translates to about -24 degrees Fahrenheit). I'm not sure if I asked or he offered, but somehow, in a stroke of both genius and true love, Zdenek and I decided that it would be a good idea for him to keep me company on this run. Since his maximum mileage in those days was about 11 short of what was called for that day, he agreed to ride his bicycle next to me along the route, carrying extra water (ice) or Power Gels (frozen goo) as needed.
While I remember being cold that day, once I began moving, my body warmed up and I was able to maintain a pretty steady temperature under my three layers of pants, four layers of shirts, balaclava, and touque (sorry, American friends, you'll have to figure that one out on your own). Running has a nice way of making and keeping you toasty, even under conditions that no human should ever endure. Zdenek, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Sitting pretty much motionless on a bicycle seat for two and a half hours in blizzard-like conditions almost cost my future hubby his toes. At the end of the run, I complained that I was tired; Zdenek stuck his frozen feet to the car heater and feared that he would face amputation. Thankfully, as it turned out, his feet and all ten toes remain attached to his body. In fact, about two years later during a winter trip to Calgary, he again agreed to ride a bike next to me while I did a long run in Arctic-like weather. The man is a trouper and, if I haven't said it enough before, he is my biggest supporter.
I was reminded of these stories on this morning's ride in the Park. The mercury today hit a balmy 5 degrees Celsius (about 42 degrees Farenheit), making for idyllic running conditions. We opted, however, in another flash of genius, to bundle up and ride. I worked as hard as I could for 60 minutes, but my legs remained stiff and cold, my feet soon lost feeling altogether (even with my booties), and the tears streaming down my face kept blurring my vision. My best efforts to get my core temperature up were thwarted by the cold wind; in cycling, it seems, the harder you work, the faster you go. And the faster you go, the colder you are.
As we coasted down the hill at the north end of the Park, Zdenek commented that he'd "never ridden like this before;" a few minutes later, he conceded that our cycling season was "almost over." Freezing my bum off (literally, it's the only place on my body that wasn't protected by a fleecy layer), I appreciated a fraction of what Zdenek must have endured "riding" his bike next to me in the Canadian winter. It's a good thing for him that, this winter, his recently acquired running endurance will allow him to keep warm, too.
Bundled up this morning
As Sunday drew closer and the mercury plunged lower, it became apparent that I was in for a miserable 16 miles. The temperature for that morning was predicted to hit a high of -31 degrees Celsius (which, for my American friends, translates to about -24 degrees Fahrenheit). I'm not sure if I asked or he offered, but somehow, in a stroke of both genius and true love, Zdenek and I decided that it would be a good idea for him to keep me company on this run. Since his maximum mileage in those days was about 11 short of what was called for that day, he agreed to ride his bicycle next to me along the route, carrying extra water (ice) or Power Gels (frozen goo) as needed.
While I remember being cold that day, once I began moving, my body warmed up and I was able to maintain a pretty steady temperature under my three layers of pants, four layers of shirts, balaclava, and touque (sorry, American friends, you'll have to figure that one out on your own). Running has a nice way of making and keeping you toasty, even under conditions that no human should ever endure. Zdenek, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Sitting pretty much motionless on a bicycle seat for two and a half hours in blizzard-like conditions almost cost my future hubby his toes. At the end of the run, I complained that I was tired; Zdenek stuck his frozen feet to the car heater and feared that he would face amputation. Thankfully, as it turned out, his feet and all ten toes remain attached to his body. In fact, about two years later during a winter trip to Calgary, he again agreed to ride a bike next to me while I did a long run in Arctic-like weather. The man is a trouper and, if I haven't said it enough before, he is my biggest supporter.
I was reminded of these stories on this morning's ride in the Park. The mercury today hit a balmy 5 degrees Celsius (about 42 degrees Farenheit), making for idyllic running conditions. We opted, however, in another flash of genius, to bundle up and ride. I worked as hard as I could for 60 minutes, but my legs remained stiff and cold, my feet soon lost feeling altogether (even with my booties), and the tears streaming down my face kept blurring my vision. My best efforts to get my core temperature up were thwarted by the cold wind; in cycling, it seems, the harder you work, the faster you go. And the faster you go, the colder you are.
As we coasted down the hill at the north end of the Park, Zdenek commented that he'd "never ridden like this before;" a few minutes later, he conceded that our cycling season was "almost over." Freezing my bum off (literally, it's the only place on my body that wasn't protected by a fleecy layer), I appreciated a fraction of what Zdenek must have endured "riding" his bike next to me in the Canadian winter. It's a good thing for him that, this winter, his recently acquired running endurance will allow him to keep warm, too.
Bundled up this morning
And yet this was taken less than two weeks ago!
Excuse me, but are those Jawbones you're wearing?
Proof that my brother-in-law (affectionately known as "Litespeed") really has joined us for a ride
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